


The Rings From Your Fingers

by avoidfilledwithcelluloid



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Blood Kink, Cisboy Letha Godfrey, Cisgirl Peter Rumancek, Cisgirl Roman Godfrey, Discussion of non-con, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 18:36:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1575461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avoidfilledwithcelluloid/pseuds/avoidfilledwithcelluloid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does one describe Rowan Godfrey?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rings From Your Fingers

            Rowan kissed like a black hole. Petra was being swallowed by the long limbs which swarmed her hips, fingers which sunk into the thick of her ponytail and a mouth which was kissing, kissing until the whole of her felt centered on the upir. She tasted like the metal of a cage, tobacco and the waxy bitterness of red lipstick.

            When Rowan pulled back, her lips were smeared with spit. She rubbed at them with the back of her hand, their plushness shining in the half moon shadow.

            "Okay," she said and leant back in. "This time, let's make it count."

 ...

            How to describe Rowan Godfrey? Like a swan whose neck was broken. Like a pearl necklace on an aristocrat's collarbone that begs to be stolen. Like an especially tight Valentino dress. But the only way to truly know you were looking at the real deal was her Godfrey eyes, green and predatory. They alighted on everyone in her path with a calculating sort of glimmer in them that didn't reach the rest of her. The girl was disconcerting, yes, but you could just as easily describe her as an asshole. She had a habit of being places she wasn't supposed to.

            Sitting next to her at lunch was Petra Rumancek, who held herself in a way that made people nervous. Not, of course, Rowan. The Godfrey princess saw in Petra something which no one knew how to describe. A friend? Perhaps. She refused to say.

            But still, Petra delighted in watching Rowan eat. For someone who usually looked like the poster girl for plagues, she devoured food. The reason why sat in Rowan's unfortunate pot belly: an infant with a father Rowan refused to speak of.

            They sat on a ledge away from everyone else, who stared at the suspiciously hairy girl and wondered at how she could possibly have captured the mercurial Godfrey's attention. Rowan patted her protruding stomach.

            "I wonder if this is how the Virgin Mary felt?" she said, lip twitching.        

            "Does that make me Joseph?" Petra asked.

            "No," Rowan sniffed. "You're Judas."

            "Where's my silver then?"

            Rowan slipped one of her rings off and grabbed Petra's hand, setting the ring in the center of her open palm. It was a peculiar ring: a snake bent into a circle of silver, eating its own tail. The eyes were little emeralds. The irony did not escape Petra.

            "There," Rowan said as she turned away to rummage in her bag for her cigarette case. "That should get you thirty pieces, you filthy traitor."

            "I'm just thinking ahead," Petra said and held the ring up to the light. It perfectly encircled the sun. Rowan's tapered fingers shook as she lit her cigarette. Her ring finger felt pale without the little snake.

            "Probably shouldn't be smoking," she said, hastily. "Probably shouldn't still be doing coke but to tell you the truth I hope this little parasite miscarries."

            "What'll you do if it lives?"

            "Give it the fuck away." Petra looked at Rowan and saw such a hardness in her green eyes. One hand stayed clutched over her stomach. It looked like she was protecting the cargo. Or trying to smash it. You know those Godfreys, so mercurial.

           ...

            Rowan laid down next to Shelley in her bed and took a deep breath.

            "Do you remember the night I told you and Mom about how I was pregnant?"

            Shelley nodded. How could she have forgotten? Rowan had slunk down the winding stair case in only her red bathrobe and announced to the house she was up the spout. It was done with such dramatics that it was of no doubt who her mother was. Olivia, although at first thought to be of negative opinion of this pregnancy, had responded with only an eye roll.

            "Yes," she said, continuing to flip through her Forbes magazine while Shelley vibrated next to her. "Well, it's not much of a surprise daughter mine. You are so quick with those boys in your bed, it was only a matter of time before you forgot protection."

            Rowan had stormed back upstairs. Clouds of smoke had started coming out of the slit under her bedroom door before she returned to the land of the living again, high and mighty and with her backpack on ready for school. Then she'd begun hanging with the Rumancek girl and slowly had grown more and more visibly pregnant. Olivia told her that being around dogs wasn't good for the baby.

            "I have to tell you something," she whispered to Shelley. Her eyes were wide. Shelley just kept her mouth shut and Rowan took that as a sign to continue.

            "Lysander told me about his dream the night before," she said. "An angel came to him and told him to give it his seed. To give it his child."

            The room went cold. Shelley regarded her sister, who had started to bit her fingernails. A habit from her childhood for when her anxiety got to be too much. When Shelley had been born her fingers had been bitten down to a pulp. Olivia had told her about it, how her sister's hands had been red as if she'd broken a pen on them when they had arrived home from the Institute.

            "I took the test after he told me," Rowan confessed, nail between her eye teeth. "Shelley, I'm freaked out, okay? I always used protection. I hadn't fucked, I hadn't fucked a guy in months alright? I did it with Brooke, but that was just pussy stuff  yeah? There's no way."

            Her thin shoulders were shaking like leaves. Shelley leaned her head on them so they would steady.

            "I just don't remember, Shelley," Rowan sobbed, tears running down her beautiful face, down it's cruel cheekbones and arrogant nose. "I need to remember but I can't. I can't remember anything."

 ...

            Why were they kissing in the graveyard? Rowan's hands curled under Petra's shirt. They cupped at the warm of her breasts, uncovered since Petra had a chest that didn't call for support. Her tits were small and reacting to the cool palms of the other girl rubbing against them. She wriggled at the sensation while Rowan left sucking kisses down her neck. There was, suspiciously, no teeth.

            Petra held fast to Rowan's hips. Her jeans were making dents in Petra's palms. She slipped her thumbs down past the rim and felt, no, _wait_ , knew that Rowan was not wearing any underwear. All it would take was a flick of the wrist on the girl would be bare to all the ghosts around them. Petra wanted to open those jeans; she wanted to see if Rowan had a shaved pussy or not, like she suspected. Grooming hadn't been on the princess' mind lately, not with bad werewolves and babies around.

            "My mom noticed I didn't have that ring I gave you," Rowan said into the vulnerable flesh of Petra's neck. "Flipped her shit. I told her to fuck off and she smacked my face. Can you believe that bitch?"

            "You want it back?"

            Rowan moaned. Petra cupped the V between her legs, stroking a finger along the seam. Just Petra's participation was getting Rowan off, as if she would have been satisfied by anything that Petra did to her. She wondered if she could get the girl off just with this, not even a direct touch.

            She knew the Godfrey girl didn't want her ring back. Thirty pieces of silver to buy her secrets. To keep her weighed down in Hemlock Grove. To keep her weighed down next to Rowan while she sunk into the soil of the cemetery.

 ...

            Rowan was lounging in the murky bathwater with her cigarette stubbed out on the white porcelain rim. Absentmindedly she rubbed at the tattoo on her hip. It curled from her protruding hipbone to half way down the front of her thigh: a dragon breathing red and gold fire. It was a promise to herself, to never lose sight of this dragon. Of the warrior path like Olivia had told her about in bedtime stories.

            Rowan had always wanted to be a warrior, a hotter Joan of Arc. She had revealed this want to Petra, a vulnerability she'd been willing to trade for the other girl's talents. A piece of her she let Petra hold in her hairy werewolf's hand. Maybe she'd thought was an equivalent exchange for seeing Petra transition. The memory made her stomach grumble.. After Petra had come back in, had returned to herself, she'd begun to bleed down her unshaven legs. Rowan had wanted to lick the menstrual blood from her thighs, scoop it into her mouth with her fingers. Maybe some would have stayed in her nails, dried and rust colored. Then she would have had a little piece of Petra to keep for herself, to suck on in class or while she was sitting in therapy with Norman.

            She wasn't a dyke, no matter how many girls she'd fucked, but something made her want to devour Petra. Humming, she slid a hand and pressed inside herself. Moving in hard circles with her thumb against her clit, Rowan tipped her head back and closed her eyes. The thrum of everything beat steadily in her head as she imagined Petra shedding her skin over and over again.

...  


            Lysander Godfrey was a short blond boy (although still taller than Petra, who boasted nothing more than less than average everything) whose green eyes were forests to Rowan's hard cut jewels. He carried himself like he had no real end destination but was simply enjoying the ride. A cool air followed him and in the dreamy manner he conducted himself in there was a sense of strange all knowingness. Petra recognized it in him because she'd seen the same manner in one of her cousins. She had been run over by a truck trying to save a cat.

            She almost felt bad about fucking him, some little sense of loyalty to Rowan that made every time she kissed Lysander taste like the clank of silver coins. He had a hell of a cock though and she was not one for deprivation, just a bit of modest good use.

            "I've never felt like this before," he said while he thrust into her. He said that often. It made Petra feel squeamish. Her hands were full of Godfrey hearts and soon she was going to drop one. It didn't matter whose. Both would incur terrible consequences. She closed her eyes and let those Godfrey hands travel her body. In a way it felt all right. He had very nice hands, good for fingering her and holding down her hips.

            The image of Rowan holding her belly flashed into her head. She groaned, nails biting into the skin of her palms. Lysander leaned forward and when she opened her eyes his mouth was asking for a kiss. Petra didn't play games. She kissed him back but kept her eyes open.

            Outside it was storming and the sound of the rain on the trailer sounded  like heartbeats, like someone running away into the woods.

 ...

            If Olivia noticed the muddy footprints in the foyer, she said nothing. Upstairs Rowan was in a right state laying in her bed, staring at her naked ring finger. She could barely see it through the hot tears in her eyes. For a moment she wanted to punch her stomach. She wanted something else to feel as used as she did. The urge to go out and ruin someone's life welled up in her heart. The taste was blood on her tongue, between the crevices of her teeth.

            Olivia let a grin crawl onto her face. Her little empress, her little dragon.  

 ...

            "This is where Brooke is buried," Rowan said. She remembered because this was were they had dug up the body.

            "Shut up," Petra mumbled into her mouth. "Bad luck to talk about the dead during sex."

            "Bullshit. Maybe corpses get me wet."

            "Shee-it."

            "Shee-it."

            Petra slid a hand into Rowan's unbuttoned jeans and spread her fingers. Each point represents a direction in which Petra is going to hell in a hand basket. Her thumb rubbed at the dip between Rowan's belly and her pelvis, the soft of it giving under her callused finger.

            Rowan breathed hard.

            "You get off on pregnant chicks?" she asked, huffing with a smirk to melt all the butter in the world. "Knew you were a sicko, wolf girl."

            "Says the corpse fucker," Petra returned and moved her hand lower. Her ring finger brushed something and she grinned. So it was an untamed wilderness down there. "Now tell me why I'm in a graveyard in the middle of the night with my hand down your pants."

            "Maybe I just wanted to see you." For a second the way Rowan's eyes widened even further had Petra tricked. But,

            "Don't lie."

            "I saw you fucking Lysander."

            Petra stopped her movements. Rowan groaned and pushed off of Petra's shoulders to yank her t-shirt off. She looked like a full moon standing in her bra and unbuttoned jeans.

            "Rowan," Petra breathed with all the gravity of a mourner in church. Had she ever said her name out loud in the night? Something about the action carried a magic Petra knew she had no business dealing in.

            Visibly swallowing, Rowan gave Petra a look that turned her insides to glass. It was the look of someone who took. Rowan Godfrey, the broken necked swan, the pearl necklace, the tight dress, the taker. Confounded by what was not given to her.

            "It's just a quick fuck," she said softly, reaching out and guiding Petra's hand back into her jeans, slipping it down until she could feel the warmth of her sex. "Doesn't have to mean anything."

            In her palm, Petra could feel Rowan's heartbeat, strong and thudding.

 ... 

            Rowan sat in the empty church with her hands tangled together on top of her belly. On the floor just a few feet from her Petra was writhing, trying to grow her face back.

            Such an old church. Such a dusty church. Cobwebs surrounded the girl and her grief as well as statues of saints with supplicating hands. What good were those hands when Shelly had died in their presence? What good were her own hands?

            With purpose, Rowan bit down on her ring finger's nail. It made a clacking sound against her teeth as she chewed. Under her other hand the baby kicked. Oh the little parasite! Shelley would never get to see it's shrunken screaming face. Petra made another pitiful sound and Rowan looked up with a frown like she had interrupted something.       Her dark hair, in a long rope-like braid down her back, was frizzing from the mid-winter air that drafted in through the broken stained glass windows.

            Lysander, poor Lysander, was on the floor near Petra with his throat trickling blood onto the cement. That crazy vargulf ripped her cousin's throat out and ate Petra's face. Then Shelley killed it and the policeman ran Shelley off, probably shot her with his gun of misplaced justice. Rowan was losing track of the people in this fucking town to hate and just hating them all to make it easier was seeming like the best solution. She chewed bitterly at the nail, tasting the faintest tang of metal. Oh, the little parasite was going to really get the welcome wagon when it finally popped out of her vagina. Oh, it was going to fucking be celebrated with a full on parade. Someone who could be everything these fuckers weren't: loyal, trustworthy, hers. Petra could be the parasite's pseudo-aunt. Olivia would dote on it and Shelley, Shelley when she came back, when Rowan found her, would love the little parasite to death.

            "It's all going to be okay," she said to the church, to God maybe, to Petra. "We're gonna figure this out."

            Petra just moaned in response as her skin knit back together. Rowan moved onto her index finger, her ring finger bitten bloody.

 ...

            Rowan's back hit the wet grass and Petra followed on top of her, bending down to kiss her again. She made a noise and bucked up against Petra's hips.

            "Calm down there babe," Petra chuckled into Rowan's mouth. "Delayed gratification not something they teach you in private school?"

            "Wouldn't know," Rowan gasped. "Got kicked out before I went to that class."

            Petra pulled back.

            "Really? For what?"

            "For fighting," Rowan said and curiously didn't sound like she was lying. It must've been a sign of how worked up she was. She wiggled her way down until she was in line with Petra's crotch and made quick work of her jean buttons. Pulling them down until the rim of her jeans sat just under her ass, Rowan looked up at Petra through her lashes. The green of her eyes glimmered along with the tilt of her flushed lips smugly.

            "Wanna eat you out," she said. "That alright wolfie?"

            "For fuck's sake Rowan," Petra said, hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and yanking them down.

            Rowan kissed Petra's hip bones, each wet and gentle kisses. She let her lips drag down until she reached the musk of her sex. It was the smell of hunter down there. The scent made her skin tingle, the center of her going warm at the thought of the power in the girl moaning above her.

            When she came up, her cheeks were wet with Petra. Her eyes were shut and her mouth hung open, tombstone teeth looking white against her curled back red lips. Debauched, that was how you could describe her.

            Petra stroked a hand against the wetness and Rowan turned toward the touch.

            "Taste good?"

            "Tastes like you," she said, resting her head against Petra's hip while her hand continued into the thick of her hair, stroking gently. From the angle Petra was at Rowan almost looked like Olivia. She almost looked harmless.

            The wind howled through the gravestones. It smelled like silver, like moonlight.

 ...

            The empty trailer was a tomb. Rown sat in the empty living room, looking at the empty kitchen, and bit her fingernails. Outside, Olivia was checking her watch. The time was a little off, but there was wiggle room in this plan still. She could hear her daughter sobbing, could smell the distinctness of her blood. Poor girl. Idiot girl.

            Her ring finger was as empty as that trailer and when her water broke over the crummy carpet, when she cried out at the contractions, Olivia couldn't help but think of what a lovely day for a drive that day was. How the wind would feel in one's hair. How free one might feel.

 ...

            Petra and Rowan sat in the graveyard as the sun rose. Rowan still had no shirt on and Petra was only in her shirt and panties. Their asses were getting damp from sitting in the grass.

            "Why don't you wear that ring?" Rowan asked.

            "I don't know," Petra said, shrugging. She really didn't know. For some reason it had never occurred to her to wear the little snake. Something about bad luck and Destiny's disapproval, Lynda's shaking head.

            "Here," Rowan said, holding her hand out. "Give it to me."

            Petra pulled the ring out of her pocket and set it in the center of Rowan's palm. Of course she had it, of course she would just give it back to Rowan. With one hand Rowan held the ring and with the other she grabbed Petra's. Her hands were warm and the warm orange of the sun rise made her look so pretty.

            How to describe Rowan Godfrey: A stray piece of hair stuck to her cheek, green eyes nervous and her jeans hopelessly unbuttoned.

            She took the ring and slid it onto Petra's finger. The emeralds looked dutifully up at her, sharp and predatory.

            "There," Rowan said. "Looks even better on you."

            Petra thought of how Destiny had warned her against loving upirs. That ring was awfully tight. That Godfrey was awfully pretty. Some cages are lined with gold but this one was full of silver.

            She kissed Rowan on the mouth and it felt like a heartbeat. It felt like a black hole.


End file.
